Cool Relief on a Hot Day
by Lunar Iris
Summary: England gets hot and bothered by the way America is eating a Popsicle. America helps him with his problem. Rated M for Yaoi.


So, I wrote this a long, long time ago and just rediscovered it. Since it's blatantly summer where I am, I thought, why not put it up for others to read? If anyone spots any glaring errors that I missed or anything horribly awkward, please let me know in a review so I can make corrections as this is self-edited, and I'm horrible with editing for myself. Thanks! I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the Popsicle brand, although it is so hot outside right now that I wish I had some in my freezer.

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**Cool Relief on a Hot Day**

England's vague memories of the hot summers in America's capital rush back to him with sharp clarity upon visiting his former colony in June. The trip began as strictly business; England accompanied his Prime Minister to meet with America's President. Upon seeing their presence at this particular meeting was unnecessary they took their leave of the small stuffy meeting room without complaint or further comment. Happy to spend whatever time they could together, they made the most of this unexpected pleasure. England and America were happy enough to be out and free and in each other's company, but by mid-morning England became increasingly impatient with the rising heat and constant humidity.

His clothes clung to his back, sticky and itchy. It took America very little time to crack jokes about his clothing. He would admit that wearing a three-piece suit in June wasn't particularly wise. He did not miss how little time it took America to dispense with his own suit jacket and loosen his tie, and did not recalled seeing his familiar bomber jacket at all. Though England didn't remove his vest—to America's further jesting—he divested himself of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves; he wished he had a hat to block the fair skin of his face from the sun. He could practically feel his freckles increase by the minute.

"America," he groaned. "Your weather is insufferable. How you put up with this fucking heat, I will never know."

"Can't do much about it." The younger nation chuckled. "Would you rather be back in that stuffy room? Talking about our Special Relationship with our bosses instead of actually enjoying it?"

England sputtered and stuttered until he felt America's hand tighten around his own. "Y-you know that's not what I meant, love."

"I know. But what would you say to having something cold? Or maybe lunch?"

"That sounds lovely." England did not realize America had stopped until his arm tugged backward, fingers still entwined with the other nation's own. "Where would you propose we eat?"

"Right here." America smiled. America stood in the middle of the sidewalk, fiddling around for something in his front pocket with his free hand.

"Hm?"

"My house. It's right here." America pulled him though his front gate and down the pathway to the front door.

"Oh, I hadn't realized we walked this far already." Caught up in enjoying the other nation's company, despite the heat, he had lost track of their surroundings.

America just nodded and bit down on his lower lip, his cheeks pinking perceptibly. Investing a bit more concentration than was necessary into unlocking the door. Was this his intended destination from the beginning? If ever he found out it was, England would not hesitate to berate the younger nation for making him walk all that way in the heat.

"Hey!" He let England enter first. "You want to go for a swim too? I have a swimsuit for you, ya know. It's stored away in the guest room you never use. Haha! Go put it on and I'll get us some snacks and meet you out back."

America left for the kitchen before England could open his mouth to protest. "Just like that wanker not to wait for an answer. But." England glanced out through the back windows of America's living room to the swimming pool. It looked rather inviting; a light breeze rippled the surface of the water. He shrugged. "I might as well."

It had taken a while to dig through the odd bits and pieces of clothing in the guest room drawers that he had left over the years to find the swim trunks. He laughed at the remembered irony of America buying him anything bearing the Union Jack, let alone on swimwear that he would rarely use, if ever. He started to wonder anew if this was all a set up. England just couldn't figure the point or purpose.

By the time he made his way back down stairs, he no longer heard the sounds of rummaging in the kitchen. England walked through the house and out the back door without bothering to call out or search for him. A cooler and picnic basket rested on an old, red blanket laid out next to the swimming pool. England sat down on the well-worn fabric just as America burst out the door wearing a stars and stripes swimsuit—no surprise—and bearing a pitcher of limeade—the pun was not lost, but he did not grace his boyfriend with any sort of reaction to it, besides raising an eyebrow in vague wonder.

Instead, he smiled. "So, what do you have for us?"

The picnic basket and cooler bore a rather delicious chicken salad, gazpacho, bread, cheese and a variety of fruit. With not a hamburger in sight, England was content enough not to ask whether the lunch was home-made or pre-ordered from a restaurant and waiting for the occasion. The presumptuous, romantic bugger. England smiled.

"How about some dessert?" The American asked after they finished their picnic lunch. "I promised you something cold, after all!" He reached into the depths of the cooler, fumbling around underneath the layers of ice.

Again, England was denied the opportunity to protest, not that he would have, as it was still quite hot outside, but he was in much better spirits about it with good food in his stomach.

"You know, America. It is good manners to allow someone to respond to your questions before you carry out with what you think their answer will be."

"Hey! I'm only being nice. And this really is what I asked you about in the first place before I even asked you about lunch!"

"I suppose that's true enough."

"Ah-ha!" He pulled his hand free of the ice holding a box of Popsicles. "Sorry, I only have cherry flavoured ones left." He opened the box and offered England one of the two ice-lollies he pulled out.

"That's fine." England ripped open the white paper and leaned back against the blanket, staring up at the sky. He took a large bite, quickly chewing it to mush and ate a couple more bites in the same manner. It was refreshingly cool and, thankfully, not as sweet as he feared it would be. He was distracted from his next bite by a loud slurp. He huffed and rose up on his side, leaning against his elbow.

"Oi! Ameri-ca..." England's protest failed, his voice catching in his throat. His boyfriend had his feet dangling in the water, staring at a section of garden beyond the water, absently flicking his tongue along the tip of his own cherry ice-lolly; sometimes he took the tip into his mouth to slurp and sometimes he licked along the sides as the juice ran down, melting in the heat.

England whimpered and bit down a third of his when America took the very tip of his ice-lolly into his mouth again and took tender, small nibble at the end. He noticed that had been the first bite the other nation had actually taken, while he was more than half-finished with his own. Leave it to America to scarf everything he eats but an ice-lolly.

America licked at the newly levelled tip, letting his tongue twist and then flatten along the smooth surface. His tongue wandered down the side again, catching another drip, and back up to flick at the top. Back down went his tongue once more to catch a drop on another side, and then moved the whole treat to seize a drop on the bottom. He opened his mouth further to let in the entire frozen treat and drew it slowly back out with a long pronounced slurp like the one that initially drew England's attention.

"Oh my god," England muttered around the last bit of cherry flavoured ice in his mouth. The wooden stick dropped away from his limp fingers. He swallowed hard the sweet liquid that had melted on his tongue and leaned forward. His chin came to rest on his hands as he watched America, in rapt fascination, continue eating in the same sultry manner.

"Did you say something, England?" America asked, without looking back at him.

"No, nothing." England fought to keep his voice and breathing even. "J-just enjoying the view."

"Oh?"

"Yes, your garden is quite nice."

"Well, thanks, babe!" America laughed and kicked his feet around in the pool, sending cool, sparking drops of water down on them.

"Oi! Watch it, git!"

America merely laughed and kicked his feet again.

England welcomed the water hitting his skin, and the briefest trace of a cool breeze that blew across America's pool causing him to shiver. It only proved to be a momentary reprieve from his discomfort and did nothing for the heat searing him from the inside out. England half-expected his skin to be bright red, but this section of America's outdoor pool deck received ample shade from the carefully chosen landscaping of trees and large shrubbery.

England winced as he shifted his hips forward and his half-hard cock brushed against the blanket. When had he inched forward close enough to tell that America had a thin dribble of cherry juice on his chin, and another longer line trickling down his hand to his wrist? When had he started biting down on his thumb to keep from gasping and moaning as he rubbed himself against the blanket? For that matter, when had he started rutting up against the blanket anyway? This was ridiculous, humiliating, and he noticed that he had become fully hard.

America was only a little more than half-finished. England feared his torture wouldn't end any time soon. "Bloody hell." He moaned under his breath.

"What is it now, England?" America turned to him, face blank, and gave his ice-lolly a particularly long lick from bottom to top, and slurped when his tongue met the resistance of the tip of the wooden stick now protruding out of the ice.

"You are so rude." England was unable to draw his gaze away.

"Huh?

"And messy."

America's eyebrows knitted together in stupefaction.

"You have juice dripping all over you." England raised himself on his hands and knees, crawling forward slowly, closing the remaining space between himself and America. He was thankful for the bagginess of the swim shorts; still, they rubbed against him uncomfortably with every move he made, but he hoped, perhaps, that America could not see the bulge between his legs in his current position. "Dripping down your hand."

America noticed the drip now that England brought it to his attention, and switched the remaining bit of his frozen treat to his right hand. He moved to lick the bright line of juice from his skin, but England seized the hand as soon as he released the wooden stick. He brought America's hand toward him, licking and sucking the red juice from his skin—wrist to thumb and slurped at the end of the digit in the same way the younger man had with his ice-lolly. He then got the little bits of juice that had managed to stick to the tip of his other fingers. America blushes the colour of their cherry treats. And, he watched America watch him licking the juice away.

"And on your chin." England sat on his knees to lean closer to the other man, and licked the cherry juice that dribbled there and at his red stained lips.

With a moan, America eyes lost focus a moment, body going limp. His ice-lolly slipped from his fingers and onto England's chest, and slid down to rest against the bulge in his shorts.

"You arse!" England hissed. Oh god, he was going to die! He had ice sitting in his lap, but the heat burning him up from the contact would sear him as surely as the flames of Hell would. He would be sure to take America down with him. "You bloody stupid klutz!"

"Why England," America hummed, flashing his million watt smile. "I am terribly sorry." From the tone, England doubted he meant it. "You seem to have a problem." The smile turned into a predatory smirk. "You're all messy now too."

It was as though someone flipped a switch. America turned toward England, and rested his hands on his shoulders to push him gently down to the blanket. "Lemme take care of that for ya."

"I-I can just take a splash in the pool and wash it off, git. Let me up, immediately."

"That's not what you really want." America kissed the spot of juice on his chest. His hand drifted down to his lap and picked up the Popsicle, still on England's lap where it fell. The younger nation licked the remaining third, and then slid it into his mouth and made show of letting it melt a bit more on his tongue. "Is it?"

"Oh, fuck." England's attempts to back away from the delicious contact failed; America leaned down to his chest to impede his movements and licked the sticky sweet liquid from his skin, slowly. Too slowly. He shifted his body closer, gliding a hand along England's inner thigh, caressing it. Incapable of coherent thought, he moaned from deep in his chest, the coolness of America's tongue still caused the heat to continue to pool in his groin.

"So, so messy, England." America's breath ghosted over the skin of his abdomen as he taunted him, pausing to lick the juice that had puddled in his belly button, and continued down to nuzzle the blonde hairs just above the waistband of his swim shorts. With a reverent kiss to England's clothed erection, America paused to strip his torturous swim shorts.

England could have sworn that he heard another slurp, but his eyes were tightly clinched. A breath of cold air ghosted over his flesh just before something colder laved the tip of his cock-head. Something cold and wet glided up toward the mouth that enveloped the tip of his cock, making him writhe in misery and pleasure. England marvelled at how the cold and heat could both drive him so wild and cursed them both in whatever language he could manage to force his tongue to utter. There was no way to tell which it was and America couldn't currently inform him one way or another.

England wondered how his lover's tongue and mouth could stay so cold. And, how could his throat stay so chilly? He rocked his hips up as gently as he was able toward the cold. Cold, cold, cold! It was glorious. America must have taken him deep into his throat. His tongue and teeth working at his arousal, and he could feel the heat battling the cold ever more insistently.

For a brief moment, the cool, warmness of America's mouth was denied him. Attentive hands massaged his thighs one moment and fingered his balls the next. Then, they would snake up to his hips. America took him deep into his mouth once again, the ministrations of his hands resuming their paths between his erection, inner thighs and hips.

"Ah! A-America!" England cried out, his toes curling into the material of the blanket, his hand seeking leverage, grasping at hair and shoulders. He surged heat into the cold, and let himself flop back, lifeless against the blanket. He sucked air into his lungs in deep breaths, afraid they forgot how to maintain oxygen.

"Wow, sweetheart." America breathed, nestled up beside him. "What the hell was that?" He stared wide-eyed at England, licking his lips.

England took a moment to gasp in a few more breaths of air. "I could ask you the same, love."

"You never come that fast." America smiled and leaned down to take England's mouth in a deep kiss, allowing him to taste himself and something else all too familiar.

England rose up against an elbow to bring his thumb to his lips. For a moment, he sat there just staring at his boyfriend, and then leaned over to kiss him again. "You finished that ice-lolly, didn't you?"

America turned to the side, a sheepish smile curling his lips. "Yeah." He looked ready for a scolding.

England doubled over in laughter, collapsing on top of America. He tried to articulate how wonderful it was, and how good the coolness made him feel, but the words were lost. It was just so typical of America.

"Well, you're the one who kept saying that I shouldn't waste food when I was younger. And that I shouldn't be messy. And it was my last one!"

That was so cute and endearing! And it only made England laugh harder.

"What was up with that anyway?" America sulked, still underneath England.

"Like I said...I was enjoying the scenery." England grinned.

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So, that's it! I still get nervous putting up lemony pieces that I write. They always seem so weird after I write them. If you liked it I'd love to know, so send a review. If you didn't like it, I'd like to know why. I'd bribe people for reviews with Cherry Popsicles if I could send them! :)

I case someone doesn't know, gazpacho is a chilled Spanish soup made with tomato, cucumber, bell pepper, onions, garlic, olive oil, vinegar and stale bread. It's actually really good. And, one of my favorite summer dishes.


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